


Stay, Stay, Stay

by michellejones



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellejones/pseuds/michellejones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four times Jake and Amy shared a bed, and the one time Jake tells her it's something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay, Stay, Stay

The first time Jake and Amy sleep together, it’s when they’re at a conference and there’s only one bed, and Amy swears it’s the most ironic thing that has ever happened to them, despite all the twists in murders and murderers and victims. She shakes her head.

“What is this, some mediocre romance novel?” She puts her hands on her hips. She cocks her head to the small space in the corner. “You’re taking the floor, Peralta.”

“You wish,” he retaliates. He gives her a playful nudge, and she shoots him a dark look.

“Fine,” she drawls. “But stay on your side.” She lets out a rushed breath of air, annoyed, and snaps her gaze up to see him plop onto their bed—in uniform, nonetheless.

“Come on. What’s wrong now, Santiago?”

“Your clothes,” she scoffs. “Take them off, they’re disgusting.”

He smiles. “Title of your sex tape!” he calls, and he begins to strip himself clean of his clothing and Amy finds it fit for herself to run to bathroom and only come out once there’s a guarantee he's fully clothed and not pulling a prank on her.

“No one wants to see that!” She shakes the worry of seeing his privates through her fingertips, and Jake looks like he’s about to say something, but she chimes in before he can. “I know, I know. Title of my sex tape, whatever.” She rolls her eyes, defeated. She finally lays down in bed beside him, only to realize that he’s close to passed out. “Jake…”

“Mm?”

“Your hand is on my ass,” she says through grit teeth.

“I know.”

* * *

The second time they sleep together, they’re still at the conference, and Amy is reluctant after what happened the night before—Jake’s hand… on her.

“Never happening again,” she says, and he nods.

“Okay, Santiago. I’m sorry. Please come to bed now?” he says, and he’s already lying across both sides of the bed. There’s a flatness to his voice that causes her to roll her eyes, but before she can interject, he grabs her hand and pulls her toward him. “We have to get up early tomorrow,” he says. “I already know that I’m going to be late, but I know how much you hate that, and I don’t want to hear you complain about it for the next five years, so.” He’s already lying down, looking at the wall opposite of her, when she lies down beside him.

“Hey, Jake?” she says through the darkness. She has clicked the light off.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t touch my butt,” she says through a smile.

He laughs a real laugh, and it’s nice.

She wakes up before him like she did the day before, like she always does. This time, his arm is slung around her, and she has no idea of how to move. Surprisingly, it takes her back to sleep. Then they’re both late, but neither of them say a word. Terry’s stare is not all that friendly when Amy and Jake arrive speechlessly, a mile apart. It’s more confused than anything; also angry.

“I expected this from Peralta, but you, Santiago? Really?”

What  _was_  she supposed to say?  _Sorry that Jake was cuddling me and it was kind of nice? His fault for being so weird and warm!_  She shakes the Sergeant’s stare from her.

* * *

 The third time they wind up in bed together is when Amy is more drunk than she has ever been, and it is not in any way healthy or like her. Jake wraps his arms tightly around her to refrain from her falling, but she trips in her heels and stumbles forward.

“Whoa! Amy…” He laughs uneasily when she giggles, something he has never heard his partner do, unless Captain Holt just said something remotely charming (which, honestly, never happens, so she should probably stop with that).

“Amy, we’re, uh, heading back to my place, okay?” he tells her once they’re both strapped into his car, and she’s nodded off into light sleep. She opens her eyes to look out the window for a moment.

“Could you…” she trails off. Her eyes are closed again. “Take me to Teddy’s?”

Jake is silent for a minute or so. “You and Teddy aren’t together anymore,” he says cautiously. His voice is quiet, low.

She shakes her head. She’s back to sleep.

She stumbles into his apartment and still manages to be careful when taking off her shoes. “You have a really pretty face, Peralta,” she says, glancing up at him. She runs her fingers lightly along his cheek, and he smiles brightly at her. Oh, he would never let her forget that one. That’s when she falls onto her knees in front of him, clutching onto his arm for stability.

“Come on,” he says, weaning her weight onto him. She loses her fingers in his hair, and he feels her rest her head on his shoulder, her lips brushing his collarbone. His breath hitches in his throat, and he closes his eyes to find stable ground, somewhere within himself.

He lays her down in his bed, which she knows she’ll hate in the morning, but he decides that it’s the most comfortable place in his home that wouldn’t give her scoliosis or smell as much.

“Jake?” It’s dark and quiet and he’s about to head into the other room. “Stay.”

Jake whips around on his heel and meets her eye. She smiles her Santiago smile, but it's tired, and he finds himself smiling small back at her. "You should get some rest," he tells her, and she shakes her head. She pats the space beside her on his bed. He furrows his eyebrows. "Amy, you're really drunk. You're not thinking clearly."

"You're only sleeping  _next_  to me, weirdo." When she laughs, it's muffled by the pillow she falls into. "And what do you mean? I'm always thinking clearly."

He lies down, and she grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. "You're the weirdo," he shoots back at her, crumpling awkwardly beside her. "Why do you want me here, anyway? I'm perfectly fine with my massage chair."

She mumbles something in her sleep, and it's only loud enough for him to hear if he listens. He's been listening to each breath she takes.

It's soft, but she'll regret it in the morning. "Hold me. That's what I want… you to…" She's quiet again, and by the way she's breathing, she's asleep.

He wraps himself around her and feels her sink into him. He presses his lips together. "Okay," he says, and it's just as soft.

She's gone when he wakes up in the morning.

* * *

He knows she's going to avoid him before he even enters the office. And when he does, he's right, per usual. He doesn't even smile about being right because it hurts, so he avoids eye contact as much as she does. Everyone seems to notice but doesn't ask any questions, except for maybe Charles, that one time when he was making toast.

"What's up with you two?"

"Again, Charles? Really? There's absolutely nothing going on between us. Honestly." Jake rubs his temples, because even though he might not have drank as much as Amy, he still drank, more to forget her than for fun. And this hangover—not fun.

He looks up to see a wide-eyed Charles and a stiff Amy Santiago before him. Her posture is rigid and uncomfortable and she's storming out of the building.

"Amy!" he calls, but she's gone, and he doesn't know what to do. He can't believe he does this, but he looks to Charles. Boyle gives him a nod.

He finds himself trailing after her, running fast, and she's stopped. She's smoking one of her infamous shame cigarettes, as he calls them, and she's huddled in a corner where she stands, holding her blazer close to her as if she's cold. He catches up to her quickly. He frowns.

"Amy, come on. These again?" He smacks the cigarette from her hand, and she lets out a disgruntled, "Hey! That was my last one!" when he presses on it with his shoe.

"You're buying me another pack," she tells him firmly. She crosses her arms; she refuses to look at him.

"Look, Santiago, what did you want me to say?" When she turns to him expectantly, he's not looking at her, either. His hands are shoved in his pockets.

"I want you to say how you feel," she tells him. Her voice is hard.

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Fine. I like you." He lets out a huff of air. "Nice solve, Detective Terrible Detective. Surprised you could figure that one out."

Her face falls.

"I've liked you for awhile, okay? But I couldn't tell you. I didn't want to ruin our friendship."

"Our friendship?" she questions, but she's wearing a soft smile.

"Our... whatever this is." He shakes his head. "Dammit, Amy. There's no time for semantics."

"Okay!" she interjects. She lets out a breath of air. "Okay." She holds onto his arm and gives him a warm smile. "You're not ruining it."

"I'm not?"

"No," she says softly.

* * *

So of course, the fourth time isn't the last time, but it's that night that they share their first kiss. And it's not all that romantic, because it tastes like Chinese food and oranges, but it's not them settling for it; this is what they want. They don't make it to Amy's bed like she wanted, but they sleep on the couch and wake up entangled in each other. It's not as uncomfortable as before, but Amy's sure as hell pissed that Jake's foot was so close to her mouth. She smacked him twice. But in the morning, Amy still tastes like oranges and they lie there for awhile until it doesn't get old but they've got to head to work. Jake, of course, is late. But from the soreness of both their lips, everyone knows. But again, no one says a word (except for Charles. He knew before either of them did.)

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely terrible, but I literally just finished B99 and I needed to write something. I'm sorry.


End file.
